About the time hurricane Tomas rolled into Les Cayes, the electricity went out, and my fever went up, I started having trouble remembering why exactly I was here.
The weekend prior had been pretty close to perfect. The beach, English-speaking friends, and dancing. Then with the departure of my friends and boss (to a conference in Miami) I found myself abruptly isolated. In any other circumstance, my busy routine would have provided a sufficient distraction from this lull, but the torrential rains and brutal winds of Tomas forbid my students to leave their homes. As a result of no school, very limited means of communication, a runny nose, and a bad cold preventing me from doing my daily yoga practice, I was left feeling pretty down and out.
My frustration with the overall situation perhaps also heightened my paranoia that I was being perpetually mocked for my butchered kreyol skills. Even my long benadryl induced naps left me feeling unsatisfied.
However, two days into my irritable state, my memory was jogged.
Join on the front porch by the two women I live with (and also despise for at least a few seconds everyday as they blatantly snicker behind my back) I battled the winds of Tomas with my hula-hoop. The air was almost chilly and the only light we had came from a candle and my laptop screen. Bial washed clothes in the wash bucket, Gracious rocked in the rocking chair, and I danced away to one of Kanye’s latest. As the wind blew the rain sideways so that it misted us underneath the covered porch, it hit me, this was exactly why I was in Haiti.
No comments:
Post a Comment